Poem.Furry acrobat

I’ve seen you, squirrel, when you’ve found the nuts you’ve buried underground.

There’s sparrow, pigeon, tit and crow, some on the holders, some below.

The choice is there of feeders three, each on the branch of the fir tree.

The first, a treat of suet fat. The blue tits like to hang on that.

The next a cage with seed inside, ‘It’s squirrel proof’ declared the guide.

Another suet treat hangs there, three balls, to get them you must dare

To leave the fence, a gymnast be-your tail curled round the leafy tree.

You hang suspended upside down, alone, now that the birds have flown

And now your efforts bring reward-you can add suet to your hoard.

squirrel acrobat

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New Year Party

For anyone finding me through the website I feel I haven’t given them enough poetry. The Friendship Centre New Year party  has a French theme and I am stretching it as far as I can with some information about the Isle de France ( Mauritius) I realise they were extinct before the French arrived but I found a poem about the dodo that I thought would amuse the members. It is by Hilaire Belloc.

The Dodo used to walk around,

And take the sun and air.

The sun yet warms his native ground-

The Dodo is not there!

The voice which used to squawk and squeak

Is now forever dumb-

Yet may you see his bones and beak

All in the Mu-se-um.

Poem -a true story

Christmas Mouse

There once was a white mouse called Poppit, whose owners were going away

They called us and said, could they drop it, for Christmas, two nights and one day.

I said that we’d have him with pleasure and find him a home in the shed

Such a cute little pet I would treasure, with his cage and his wheel and his bed.

We moved all the pots for the flowers and cleared all the tools from the shelves

Then left, to be ready for Santa – his reindeer, his presents, his elves.

Next morning I ran down the garden to see if dear Poppit was fine.

I’d left all my presents unopened for, of course, I had plenty of time.

I looked at the cage in the corner but couldn’t see Poppit inside.

Perhaps he had gone somewhere warmer, under his bedding, to hide?

But alas, he had fled, we had lost him. There was just not a sign of a mouse.

He’d escaped, you might think we had crossed him. We should have kept him in the house!

So the day that was Christmas we started to empty our old garden shed,

The contents on wheelbarrow carted, just hoping the mouse wasn’t dead.

And then, with the day nearly over and the junk on display on the grass

When we’d given up hope for the rover-he was out in the open at last!

That holiday won’t be forgotten. The mouse was returned to his home

And a day that could have been rotten- inspiration for this Christmas poem.

 

 

Strange happenings

How is it that I suddenly get ‘featured’ on my blog and an orange note that ‘sticky’ has seen it? At least, I guess that is what it means. I’m really happy if I am getting discovered but sorry not to have anything  brilliant to impart. I can give you another verse, however, not mine, this time, but also from our new poetry anthology, “Reflections, Then and Now.”

It isn’t there, you cannot see or feel or touch this mystery

This presence is not noticed. It passes you unseen.

Only when it’s passed one by does one know that it has been.

When it seems to travel slowly we wish it would speed up

When seemingly it travels fast then we wish that it would last.

Only when it’s gone away does one wish that it would stay.

Where, I wonder, is it bound, slipping by without a sound?

It comes up from the future and drops into the past

Moving swift with certainty- it travels to eternity.

Something which is constant, defying understanding

Which is quite unbending and seems never ending

Providing freedom from illusion in a world filled with confusion.

 

Bryan Fletton.

Global blog

Thanks,India, France and the USA. Without you I would have almost no readers. I am having to force myself to write anything these days.

I have started a file of poems, old and new, and hopefully will attempt to write a new one for every special occasion. My Christmas one has already been published in a Sea Scribes anthology so I’ll have to try a new one. I did get an idea for an Easter one but it floated away from my memory before I had time to write it down. I don’t keep a notebook by the bed as we are advised to do – or take one out with me when I go shopping!

Then there’s Valentine’s Day, Midsummer day ( I’ve done Halloween) Guy Fawkes Day and, of course, the opportunity to do another pantomime. I do have thoughts about that but I’ll wait to see how the 2017 one is received before I start writing it. Folk might say they don’t want me to do another one.

I did once say I would not write my blog if I had nothing to impart so I may give it a rest until inspiration strikes! I’ll just try to find a picture for you. Julie.IMG_0078

Reading poetry

Out at the Willows folk club last night to hear a great set from Cadillac Country. I had dug out a couple of old poems in case there was time and Evette squeezed me in.

Once again I forgot to take my camera and I don’t use a smart phone so there are no pictures, suffice to say Brian Winslade and his band were brilliant, such a variety of country and 60’s numbers, including two from an almostElvis! We had a couple of Jim Reeves songs that we all joined in with and, all in all, a fun time was had by all.

The poem caused some reaction as the area I wrote about was familiar to one or two people in the audience. It was written about an incident in about 1950.

Unforgettable

The day I had the slipper’s etched for ever in my brain

That morning I’d not gone to school, I’d not do that again!

That day we had a mental test and I was scared of sums

But hiding in my own garden, now, that was really dumb!

The school alerted mother and she worried where I’d gone

But I was just behind the hedge, too frightened to go home.

They found me soon and then I felt my father’s rage and spite-

He set me down upon his knee and Spanked – to teach me right.

I never ran away again, least, not ’till I was grown

Then, goodbye old grey gas works and crowded terraced homes.

I left the old canal-side that had allotments on,

I left the streets that trolley buses one -time drove along,

I left the past behind me, as people need to do

But I’ll not forget the day that I was slippered –  well,would you?

 

New talk

Last night I gave my new talk, “From Manuscript to Microphone” to Worthing Friendship Centre.

This is the first time I have incorporated recordings into my speech and it felt quite odd listening instead of talking. It needed to be much longer. I had it written out but didn’t stick to the script, thinking I could add bits as I went along. It turned out I missed  as many parts as I added so it was still only half an hour.

Still, I did get a booking for another talk and I sold a lot of copies of the poetry anthology and a copy of the “Lane” trilogy.

It takes about five talks for me to get so familiar with the content that I can speak without notes but I may combine the two for the next session. I took a camera and forgot to ask anyone to take a photo. Pity, because I have a new stand for the books and the table looked good. I’ll have to use the old picture.

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